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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744628">Sweets for the Antaam</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/riftclosing/pseuds/riftclosing'>riftclosing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:28:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/riftclosing/pseuds/riftclosing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Hawke, who happens to be a hobbyist baker, makes a bit to much cake after a certain holiday. For whatever reason, she ends up outside of the compound and tries to hand it over to the guard.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweets for the Antaam</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>you know when you have no idea where something is going so you gotta slap a bow on it and call it a day? yeah.</p><p>my darling Abigail Hawke looks like this: https://66.media.tumblr.com/7704dcc90c585c60b97eb6de2945fb86/88d06b64ccb30a21-23/s1280x1920/0ecead0ed59965f1e5ea60d8328244d464654d29.jpg</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The issue with Javaris had laid heavily on Abigail’s mind. Despite the Arishok’s rather lackluster response to finding his affairs had been meddled with, her fears that she had committed some cultural faux pas were never far from her mind. Considering that, soon after that occasion, she had helped a chantry mother smuggle a saarebas out of the city, and then killed the men sent to reclaim the mage afterward (a ceremonial death? really?) she felt she was racking up points against herself. The fact that the Arishok had seemed grateful at her admission was irrelevant. She was quite sure she was on his shit list right next to Sister Petrice.</p><p>So when autumn came, and with it her favorite minor holiday, she found herself baking copious amounts of the tiny sugar cakes that the day was known for. She’d passed them around to her neighbors in Lowtown and still had plenty leftover. Merrill took some with her to the Alienage, Aveline took a box to the guards, Isabela and Varric took them to the Hanged Man, Sebastian and Fenris had declined but she’d forced them into their hands anyway, and Anders took a few boxes with him to distribute to his patients.</p><p>But she still had so many boxes. So, she picked three of them up and started walking.</p><p>Abigail didn’t really have a destination in mind as she walked, and when she came back to herself outside the Qunari compound, it seemed as good an option as any. They were all very large, and it seemed reasonable that they might have proportionate appetites. She just stood there, shuffling her feet, clutching the boxes of cakes until a deep voice broke her out of her stupor.</p><p>“Bas. If you have a request, make it known.” It was the young man who usually kept vigil outside of the compound gates. He looked down at her with a critical eye, not that she could blame him when she was wearing an apron and had flour all over her body (flour on dark skin always made the victim look especially dry). His face was as blank as any of his compatriots, and she felt the words bubbling out of her mouth before she could filter them.</p><p>“I was baking and I… I made quite a few extras. It’s a holiday here in the ‘Marches, you see. Autumn’s Fest. It’s to celebrate the season change. We make these little cakes out of sugars… And I know that you do not celebrate but well… Cake is cake. And I’m unsure what access you have to sweets so I…”</p><p>The Qunari continued looking at her with an empty expression.</p><p>“They’re bite-sized,” she added because she was unable to keep her mouth shut in the face of such an awkward silence, “so they shouldn’t be heavy on the stomach. Um, here’s a list of ingredients I used, in case any of you have allergies.” Awkwardly balancing the boxes of pastry, she pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket. “Well, if you do not want them, you can just… Discard them.” She forced the boxes of sweets into his hands. He took them and continued to stare.</p><p>“Alright. Have a lovely evening.” With that, she turned and walked away and swore to never step foot in the compound again.<br/>///</p><p>“You gave the Qunari… sweets,” Isabela said.</p><p>“I gave the Qunari sweets,” Abigail said, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. She’d walked straight to the Hanged Man after the mortifying display in the docks.</p><p>“You gave the Qunari sweets,” Varric repeated.</p><p>Isabela drummed her fingers against their table. “Do they even eat sweets? I thought their diet consisted of killing traitors and testosterone.”</p><p>“You’d say the same about Broody.”</p><p>“Ah ah, Varric. For him, it would be killing slavers and testosterone. Plenty of overlap, but I’m sure many traitors would balk at that comparison.”</p><p>“Fair point. But still, Fatale,” Varric turned back to Abigail, who still had her face against the table, “where did that thought even come from?”</p><p>“I don’t know! I just had so many, and I thought it would be a nice surprise. I mean, who doesn’t like cake! I went and mucked it up thanks to my rambling. They probably think I poisoned them or something,” Her head shot up, startling her friends and causing them to spill some of their drinks. “What if I cause some kind of incident over little cakes? Over maple cakes, of all things.”</p><p>“I doubt it’ll come to that. You’re the least dangerous, dangerous person I know. They’d have to be stupid to see your cakes as some kind of threat.”</p><p>“Whatever. I’d be glad to never set foot there again.”</p><p>///</p><p>Life, as it turned out, couldn't care less about how Abigail felt, but it was a while before Abigail had cause to enter the compound again. Her newfound riches, as well as her reputation around Kirkwall, had given her a lot more influence than she had ever thought possible. It was almost dizzying and not what she had expected when she reclaimed her family title.</p><p>Viscount Dumar heard of her previous dealings with the Qunari and decided that she should become an ambassador of sorts to help him keep them appeased as he dealt with the nobility. Although she wanted to protest, she didn’t believe that the incident with the cakes, which obviously hadn’t resulted in any conflict, would make a strong case against her involvement. Plus, they’d asked for her by name. She hadn’t even known they knew her name. So, reluctantly, she made her way to the docks, stopping only to visit Fenris and request his company for the remainder of her trek.</p><p>She felt off-kilter talking to the Arishok again after so long. The fact that he knew her name was odd enough since he admitted that he hadn’t cared to learn it following the first few times they’d spoken. The fact that he seemed to treat her as an equal was even weirder. Although his tone was much the same as it had been three years previous, there was a sort of lilt in his voice and familiarity in his speech that was absolutely new. Oh Maker, if the Arishok started calling on her as well… </p><p>“Panehedan, Hawke. I do not hope you die.”</p><p>Well, that was… good? At least she hoped it was.</p><p>As she and Fenris left the compound, the guard at the gate stopped her briefly. It was the same young man she had given the cakes to, his face forever ingrained into her memory. She briefly wondered what his actual age was. Her tendency to treat everyone as if they were younger than she was had caused a few embarrassing encounters as of late.</p><p>“The cakes,” he began, “were of adequate taste. There was no opportunity before, but we would like to make a request. The bakeries in Par Vollen tend to employ the use of spices more liberally. If you are willing, we would be grateful if you could provide more of those cakes on occasion.”</p><p>“R-really? I mean, of course! I could make.. Other things as well. Things like loaves of bread and other pastries, if you like.”</p><p>The young man nodded. “That would be sufficient,” and he quickly turned back to his post. Alright. Conversation over, then.</p><p>She turned back toward Fenris, whose look of surprise surely mirrored her own. She tilted her head and the pair began the walk back to Hightown.</p><p>“I’m not surprised that they enjoy sweets, but I am surprised that they like Ferelden sweets,” Fenris said once they were a good distance from the compound.</p><p>“Ferelden food is not that bad. Personally, I’m surprised that they even remembered I brought them,” Abigail replied.</p><p>“Pardon me, Hawke, but I don’t imagine the Arishok gets many guests that come to him brandishing boxes of cake at his Antaam.”</p><p>She laughed. “You have a point there, my friend.”</p><p>They went and gathered Isabela and Anders to help deal with the poison. Oh, Petrice and her ilk were absolutely involved with this, and now they had a whole street’s blood on their hands. She thought of Petrice’s face while she violently kneaded enough dough to feed 50 Qunari several slices of pumpkin bread. She delivered it when she came to give the Arishok news of what had occurred, and of her fears of the young mother's involvement.</p><p>It went on like that for a while. Abigail would ‘accidentally’ bake excess loaves of spiced pumpkin bread and wander into the compound. There, she would ‘bump into’ one of the young men there and pass them over. They paid her for these services, although she insisted that it was unnecessary. Her mother caught onto the scheme quickly and reminded Abigail not to stay for too long, fearing that they would attempt to convert her, or perhaps damage her reputation.</p><p>Although she understood the concern, she felt no danger. None of her friends heard rumors about her visits so all she could assume was that they thought it was all business for the viscount. In fact, her relationship with the Arishok and his followers seemed to make her just the slightest bit more scary to common criminals. She couldn’t do much about religious zealots but at least pickpockets were giving her a wide berth!</p><p>One day, as she walked to the compound, the basket of cookies she carried now empty, she wondered how long the shaky peace could last. She’d already been thrown right into the middle of the issue due to her close proximity to the centers of power in Kirkwall, a fact that she was now learning to accept. Something had to give eventually. The city was far too on edge for it not to. Eventually, she’d no longer be able to pass out cake to the Antaam, and they’d be gone back home. Abigail wasn’t sure how she felt about that. At the very least, she hoped they would get home before it came to blows...</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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